


Brilliant Minds

by kasviel



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasviel/pseuds/kasviel
Summary: The first days of Albert Wesker and William Birkin in Umbrella's Arklay Laboratory. This is an older story but I've cleaned it up some. Albert Wesker is younger, more hotheaded, and also more human than he comes to be in later years. The memos are similar to the Wesker's Report files, written by an older Wesker looking back on these old days. The first of two of my RE stories.
Relationships: William Birkin/Albert Wesker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

> **Memo I**

> “ _When I first visited that place, I was eighteen years old and it was summer. That was twenty years ago. I still remember the smell when the helicopter landed and the rotor caused the wind to stir …_
> 
> _“From the air, the mansion seemed normal, but from the ground, something was different. William Birkin, who was two years younger than I, seemed only interested in the research files he had in hand, as usual._
> 
> _The two of us had been assigned to that place two days ago, the same day they decided to close the executive training center. Everything could have been planned out from the beginning, or it could have all been a coincidence. The only person to know the truth was, most likely, Oswell E. Spencer, the director of the Umbrella Corporation._
> 
> _Spencer, at the time, was using a mansion in the Arklay Mountains as a research facility for the study of the T-Virus.”_

> **Chapter One**
> 
> That July was humid and misty. There was no breeze to rustle the trees of the Arklay Mountains, they lay in utter silence and stillness. It was an ordinary Monday morning, one that would be lost to time and forgotten. However, there was one person who would never forget it.
> 
> The roar of a helicopter broke the silence abruptly. The large steel-colored body flashed in the sunlight, the glare throwing an eerie light over the dark canopy of trees below. It flew high over the mountains and forests, paused ponderously, and then began to descend. Through the window of the metal bird, a young man could be seen. He sat stiffly and his mouth was a grim thin line. He had neat blond hair that was combed back precisely, and he wore black jeans and a blue shirt. Covering his eyes were a pair of black sunglasses.
> 
> The young man glanced down through the window. He could see a building down below, shadowed by the dark lenses of his sunglasses. It was a large, impressive mansion, known simply as the Spencer Mansion. The youth had heard many things concerning this mansion. The loyal company men proudly boasted of how the famed New York-based architect George Trevor had designed the place specifically for the Umbrella director. The cynical company men whispered about the way the entire Trevor family had vanished upon its completion, rumoring that they had gone missing on site.

> Looking down on the sprawling pile, the blond youth was distinctly unimpressed.
> 
> "It's only a mansion," the young man stated simply. "See that, Birkin?"
> 
> Sitting in the seats directly across from the man with blond hair was a younger man—he was a boy, really. The kid had longish sandy hair that fell over his bowed head, brushing the edges of a pleasant, mildly handsome face. He was bent over some research notes in his hands. Even in the heat of July, he wore a white lab coat over slacks, a white shirt, and a red tie. Despite the attention to dressing properly, the youth had a slightly disheveled look about him: the tie was loosened an inch, his shirt's top button was undone, and his fine hair had fallen out of place, the fringe across his forehead a bit too long.
> 
> "A building is only a building, after all," said the sandy-haired boy. He did not lift his eyes from his papers once, even as he replied. "Did you expect something magnificent, Albert?"
> 
> "Don't call me that," the young man said, irritated, " _William_."
> 
> "Well what were you expecting, _Wesker_?” the boy retorted. He still did not look up from his papers. “The White House?"
> 
> Albert Wesker exhaled and sat back in his seat. He turned his eyes back to the window and the mansion below. The kid, William Birkin, did not look up once from his papers throughout the helicopter's descent. He had been that way since Wesker had met him. In fact, Wesker was not sure whether he _ever_ lifted his eyes from those notes. Wesker appreciated the young savant's dedication, but he was irritated at Birkin's lack of awareness of more worldly matters. Couldn't he see that science was only one part of the grand design they were working towards?
> 
> In truth, sixteen-year-old William Birkin was slightly anxious. Being offered the job of co-head researcher at such a young age (he was the youngest employee Umbrella had ever had in Research and Development) had swelled his ego so drastically, he had not once considered both sides of the situation until just now. As he poured through his notes, Birkin wondered for a brief instant if he would be able to accomplish what he hoped to. He wanted to study this new virus that had been found, a fatal virus called 'Ebola'. It fascinated him. He'd accepted the job simply so that he could study the virus in peace, well-funded and with all the latest equipment available to him.
> 
> William Birkin knew Albert Wesker from their shared time in Umbrella's executive training facility, now closed, and he knew his mentality was quite different. William wanted to study viruses and their effects on human genetics. Wesker was interested in the research and development of a human bio-weapon. He planned to create such a weapon using Birkin's studies of viral infections and DNA-altering diseases. He claimed this was for the purpose of creating a counter-agent in the event of the virus being weaponized. A cure for any strain of Ebola would be worth a fortune, and a means of blocking a biological attack would be worth even more to the government. William recalled Wesker's presentations clearly, always so focused and political as opposed to William's own scientific, theoretical ones.
> 
> The research would be the same for both the young men, but their purposes would be vastly different. One would study to suppress the burning desire to _know_. The other would study for such petty worldly matters as fortune and prestige. William, on one hand, was a dedicated boy with a passion for his work. Wesker, on the other hand, was a cool, collected young adult that recognized his own intelligence and was determined to get all the power he could out of it. They were so alike, and yet they were so wildly different. Birkin wondered if such a pair could produce anything of substance. He would hate to be hindered by a corporate or political agenda.
> 
> The helicopter landed now, the rotor causing the forest to stir. The roar began to die down. Wesker crinkled his nose slightly. Birkin glanced up briefly. There was a smell in the air which was hard to describe. It was almost as if the aroma of the pine trees and earth had mingled with the odor of the lab and its chemicals. Both boys knew the smell of a lab very well, but that it had infected all this wild nature around them was a foreboding thought. Their eyes met for just a moment, and though Wesker's were shielded by his sunglasses, they both felt the shared sentiment. It was the first time the former rivals had ever been of the same mind about anything.
> 
> Wesker stood up. He was tall and carried himself with a cold austerity that made him seem far older than his eighteen years. He slung his lab coat over his shoulder and jumped down from the chopper. William shuffled his papers together and followed him. They stepped out into the hot summer day, and the smell of pine and antiseptic thickened. William kept his eyes fixed on his papers but blinked rapidly due to the bright sunlight. Wesker, in his sunglasses, strode ahead confidently.
> 
> They came to an elevator where a man was waiting. He was the director of the facility, though neither youth could remember his name (nor cared to try). Birkin and Wesker entered the elevator with him. William ignored him, keeping his eyes on his papers. Wesker glanced at the man for a second, then turned his gaze to the elevator door. He smirked slightly at the fact that Birkin was ignoring the director. He knew William did not realize his rudeness: he was the type who would ignore people unknowingly, simply because his mind was always preoccupied with his work.

> Wesker's expression grew smug. He, on the other hand, was ignoring the director deliberately. Everyone knew that the chief researchers were the ones who would really control this facility. From this day forward, the Spencer Mansion (AKA The Arklay Laboratory) was under the control of Albert Wesker and William Birkin. Wesker had long since decided not to hide the fact for the sake of the egos of lesser men. He stared at the closed elevator doors as they descended, waiting for the director to react to his snobbery and Birkin's unintentional rudeness.
> 
> But the director did nothing. He simply stood there, going along with the silence. The elevator sank deeper into the ground, and he paid no mind to the two young men.
> 
> Wesker drew a breath softly. Usually people reacted very quickly to uncivil attitudes. In the training center, they'd been told off, scolded, and sometimes ignored in turn. Some people would try to start a conversation, and became offended when it did not work. Elders usually told Wesker straight out that he "shouldn't ignore people" and "be so impertinent." He always found these reactions profoundly amusing. William would give a curt, disingenuous apology to shut them up.
> 
> Oddly, the director didn't seem to mind his position as head of the facility being usurped at all. If he did, he hid it well. Wesker figured that the man probably took the two boys to be just that: _boys_. Wesker had barely started adulthood while William was still a kid. That was annoying, but Wesker decided he didn't care what the director thought. Regardless of the title he carried, he was not the one really in charge of the facility. Wesker smiled a little, glancing at Birkin. They were in charge. What anyone felt or did not feel about it was their own problem.

> Birkin shifted on his feet, shuffled his notes, and mumbled something to himself. He took one of the many pens in his lab coat's breast pocket and began scribbling something on a document, using the elevator's mirrored wall as a desk. The director finally reacted, giving the youth a narrow-eyed stare. Wesker stifled a laugh.

* * *

> All of this started the day that Wesker met a man named Sir Oswell E. Spencer. He was a tall, dignified man that was very enigmatic. He was interested in Wesker's studies and later, when Wesker was older, his work, though he never precisely stated his reasons for this interest. Wesker had always disregarded Spencer's wealth and importance. He was as cool with Spencer as he was with everyone, but Spencer had persisted. He would make appearances at any school Wesker attended. It had seemed that wherever Wesker had gone, Spencer would follow. Though normally impossible to affect, Wesker had come to feel anxious about the man's presence in his life. He was used to being a lone wolf and mistrusted inexplicable attention.

> Ultimately, Spencer's reason for practically stalking Wesker had been that he'd seen talent in the youth. It turned out that Spencer was the director of a pharmaceutical company called "Umbrella." Spencer claimed that his company was developing a cure for many dangerous viruses, Ebola included. He offered Wesker a job, despite his young age, and Wesker accepted. It was only natural, Wesker had surmised, that a prestigious company would want to hire him before anyone else had the chance: he was, after all, quite brilliant.
> 
> A year ago, at the Umbrella Executive Training Center, Wesker met William Birkin, a fifteen-year-old prodigy with a passion for viral pathology. Birkin had told Wesker that he'd met Spencer in the same fashion, and had also been offered a job. The two were trained under Dr. James Marcus, and they developed a casual working rivalry. Ironically, it was their differences that kept them from getting too fiercely competitive; Birkin acquiesced to the logic of Wesker's practicality, while Wesker grudgingly accepted Birkin's superior scientific genius.
> 
> Two days before they'd come to the Spencer Mansion (named for the director of Umbrella), Oswell Spencer himself had approached them. The Training Center was to be closed down, he had said, but they had been chosen to continue the research at the Arklay Laboratory at Spencer Mansion. Not only would they go on working for Umbrella, they would each be lead researchers. Of their mentor, James Marcus, there was no word. Neither boy cared to inquire as to his fate, simply accepting that their natural superiority had carried them farther than Marcus could ever hope to rise.

* * *

> Currently, the director-in-name of the Arklay facility was giving the uninterested youths a tour of Spencer Mansion. Wesker had already memorized the map given to them so he paid little attention, while William kept his eyes on his Ebola research notes.
> 
> As Wesker strode through the mansion, following the director, he glanced at Birkin's notes. The Ebola Virus. To Wesker, it was a means of gaining fortune, prestige, and power. Two years ago, when Wesker had heard of the discovery of the virus, he had begun to question it. Ebola had a 90% death rate, and those infected by it would die within ten days. But Wesker wondered what might happen if the Ebola virus did not cause death so quickly? What if the infected person would become mentally disrupted, and wander around for days, all the time infecting others? On a higher level, he wondered what would happen if the DNA and RNA of the virus would be able to reconstruct the DNA of a human host? If these questions became reality, it would create a human host that would harbor and spread the virus and not die easily. It would create a human bio-weapon. It _could_ create a human god …
> 
> Wesker was able to grasp the big picture, although he could not always fit the science to meet his imagination's demands. Birkin had a knack for the science, though he gave little thought to its real world applications. But Spencer saw raw potential in both young men, so he sent them forward into the heart of Umbrella's research. That was the reason they were stepping through the halls of the Arklay Facility now. They were to continue their T-Virus Project—together.
> 
> Wesker caught a few glances from older researchers as they passed through the halls. The older scientists seemed skeptical of these two young lead researchers. Wesker was annoyed by their judgmental ignorance, but ignored them. Birkin did not notice them at all.
> 
> They entered their third elevator of the tour. Wesker sighed. He was sick of all the preliminaries. All he wanted to do was start his job. As the elevator descended into the depths beneath the manse, he put on his lab coat. The Spencer Mansion was kept very cool, probably due to the numerous chemicals kept within. It seemed a practical place to do research, if unnecessarily lavish.
> 
> The elevator stopped. The three had reached their final destination. They were in a dark hall too deeply underground for windows, lit only by orange-red lights. They walked a few steps, then came to a huge glass window looking in on a room. Wesker peered in and even Birkin looked up. Once they saw the room's contents, their eyes widened. Wesker took off his sunglasses, and William actually lowered his notes.
> 
> The room was small and sterile, but very worn. The equipment and scarce furniture was antiquated, the metal rusty and the padded walls dingy. The light was dim, only a single bulb illuminating the small living area. Lying on a bed lined with pipes, tubes and wires snaking down from it, was a figure—they could not tell at first whether it was a human figure. Wesker peered more closely and could see then that it was a woman. Her skin looked orange in the sickly light, mottled with red as if her skin was torn away in patches, and she lay motionless. Wesker could see her eyes blankly staring at the ceiling; they were not dead, but seemed to want to be. She wore little more than rags, and her hair was wild all around her. A human? No, Wesker thought, her humanity had long since been stripped away.

> Birkin stared. He had never actually seen a human test subject before. He'd read about the effects of viruses and such, had seen graphic medical photos, but this was different. This was an actual human test subject, languishing right before his very eyes. She looked like she'd been experimented on for an eternity. William uttered something that Wesker could not decipher.
> 
> Wesker looked at Birkin, wondering whether his words were condemning or praising. Then he turned his eyes back to the woman. The entire hall smelled of death and disease and chemical. So, this was the true nature of Umbrella. Wesker had always had his suspicions, but now there was not a shred of doubt left in his mind: Umbrella intended to weaponize the virus. What was brewing within the corporation was as dark and twisted as that labyrinth of pipes lining the woman's bed and ceiling and walls.
> 
> As they stared at the woman test subject, both boys realized something. This was the point of no return. They were now a part of Umbrella. For some reason, it almost felt like they were joining a cult as opposed to a company. Like a cult, there was no way out now. Now they had two choices; they could do their work without question or complaint, or they could end up the way that woman had, lying in limbo between several kinds of hell.
> 
> The director turned to them. "It's nearly time for lunch. Shall I show you to the dining hall, then?"
> 
> "Yes." Wesker faced the man coolly. He put his sunglasses back on before anyone could glimpse whether his eyes held any emotion or not. "We'll eat, then we want to start working."
> 
> Birkin nodded. He was speechless, still staring in at the woman.
> 
> "All right, then." The director seemed pleased. He shook Wesker's hand. "Welcome to Arklay."

* * *

>   
> William Birkin and Albert Wesker were shown to the dining hall. The research team members were all there. Again, Wesker noticed the disapproving looks they were giving them. He twitched slightly in annoyance as he and Birkin sat down. Birkin took no notice. He was not looking through his notes, but his eyes showed that his mind was somewhere else. Wesker figured he was probably still thinking about the woman test subject.
> 
> "Now, I'd like you all to welcome our two new staff members," the director addressed the old staff. "This is Albert Wesker, and this is William Birkin. They'll be our new—"
> 
> "Chief researchers," Wesker interrupted, standing. "William and I are going to head up the research on the T-Virus Project, which will be the Arklay Laboratory's main focus." His eyes traveled from face to face, meeting each person's gaze directly. "We expect full cooperation, as promised to us by Oswell Spencer. Thank you."
> 
> Murmurs traveled the table. Wesker sat down calmly. He could tell that many of the older staff members did not like his way of taking charge, but he didn't care. If they were that old and still held such an insignificant position, they were the type of worker that had to be told what to do. If any of them had any leadership skills, Spencer wouldn't have given Wesker and Birkin such coveted positions above them.
> 
> Birkin began to eat, watching Wesker. He admired the way his older colleague could take charge of any situation and always remain calm and collected. William usually would ignore any and every situation, simply because his mind was always so full with his work. He never bothered to talk much, unless it was about the viruses or his studies. His mind could not stray from the one thing he was working on, it was simply the way he was. He sometimes wished he could tear his mind from his research, and he envied Wesker a small bit.
> 
> "Our equipment has arrived, hasn't it?" Wesker was asking now. "The Ebola sample that Birkin requested, and my files?"
> 
> "Yes, I believe they have," replied an older man. His cold blue eyes moved up and down, looking Wesker over. "I'm Wesley Smithe, I've been with Umbrella since it was established."
> 
> "I'm sure you have," Wesker said simply. He paused in a feigned defeat before adding, “Which is why you must hold an important job. What is your title?"
> 
> The man drew a breath. "I am … a researcher for the company."
> 
> "A researcher for ten years. You must be highly devoted to that one position," Wesker said derisively. "How admirable."
> 
> Wesley's chest puffed up like a bird's. His fist tightened on his fork. Wesker took a bite of his food and resumed ignoring the older man. Wesley was at a loss for words.
> 
> Birkin had to smile at this display. As a prodigy, he had spent his entire young life being constantly derided and doubted by smug old men like Wesley Smithe. Somehow, Wesker had both won the battle for dominance and refused to play the game of respect at once. It was remarkably bold.
> 
> Wesker turned to Birkin. He gave him a short, small smile. Birkin was a little startled, as they had never been close at the Training Center. He lowered his gaze to his plate, boyishly shy of the thick-skinned older boy.
> 
> "Exactly what, Wesker," Wesley suddenly spoke up, "are your plans for this laboratory?"
> 
> "I plan to use this lab for the purpose it was created," Wesker replied.

> “And what purpose is that?”

> “Exploring the T-Virus to its full potential.”
> 
> "I see. And exactly how will you do that, Mr. Wesker?"
> 
> "Utilizing the DNA-restructuring properties of several viruses, and combining these to create one super-virus," Birkin spoke up. "My studies of Ebola combined with the research done on the original virus will come together to overcome the weaknesses of both, and at the same time let us know much more about the effects of each. If we can break the code of the DNA and RNA of Ebola, we can compare it to the original virus. Knowing the DNA and RNA of both will allow us the freedom to try and enhance them."
> 
> "And enhancement will lead us to finding the perfect virus," Wesker added, nodding, "a virus capable of restructuring the DNA as opposed to destroying it. We'll be able to take any human and turn them into … whatever the company wishes.”
> 
> Birkin gave Wesker a slightly puzzled frown. Wesker pointedly did not meet his eye. Birkin looked around the table at the other researchers. Did they not know what Oswell Spencer really wanted? Was it some sort of secret that only he and Wesker shared? He had never thought about the politics of research before.
> 
> The research team at the table stared at the two hotshots. The room fell into a cold silence.
> 
> The director was also quiet, though he was not offended at all. In fact, there was a distant smile on his face. The two young men were the perfect team. Wesker was highly intelligent. Even though he was not on Birkin's level of sheer innovative genius, his pragmatism and sense of command made up for it. He knew people well, and had a talent for asking the right questions. Birkin's mind was a rare commodity, one that had earned him a doctorate in medicine at the age of thirteen. He was perfect to handle the research that would back up the questions Wesker asked. With Wesker handling the theoretical and Birkin making his ideas into physical reality, the results were sure to be amazing. The director knew all this, therefore he was not bothered by their cockiness at all. Besides, even if the two young men failed, their swift overtaking of the facility would mean that the brunt of the blame would fall squarely upon their shoulders.
> 
> "The research to create such a virus will be extremely dangerous," another older scientist spoke up. "You're only children, are you sure you're up to such tasks?"
> 
> "Eighteen is hardly the age of a child," Wesker said tensely. "We aren't running around, playing with diseases as if they were toys. Birkin and I are adequately trained and, more importantly, we have the intelligence to carry out these plans. I highly doubt we would be sent here by Spencer himself if we weren't."
> 
> "You're both willing to risk your lives, are you?" asked Wesley.
> 
> "Yes," Birkin quickly replied.
> 
> "However," Wesker added firmly, "we aren't going to die. Simply because we are willing to risk our lives doesn't mean we are expecting to die. The scientists that constantly have death on their minds are meant to meet with exactly that."
> 
> Birkin raised his eyebrows at Wesker. The way he was looking at Smithe, the words could only be taken as a threat. Seeing the look in Wesker's steely eyes, Birkin did not doubt Wesker would not hesitate a second before seeing that threat through. The idea excited Birkin for some reason.
> 
> "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have work to do," Wesker said.
> 
> He stood up. William scurried to follow him. Wesker walked briskly through the halls of the mansion, with William half-jogging after him.
> 
> "That was … impressive," Birkin offered. "But aren't you afraid that you offended them?"
> 
> "Offending people is nothing to be afraid of, William," Wesker said calmly. "In fact, it can be rather amusing. In any case, I prefer to be to the point. There is no room in science for vagueness or feigned kindness. I won't pretend to be nicer than I am."
> 
> Birkin was quiet as he followed Wesker, pondering the hardened man. He very rarely took an interest in people, but Albert was fascinating. In many ways, he behaved the way a virus might: concisely carrying out what he was programmed to do, using or destroying anything that stopped him from doing it, and not feeling or hesitating over any of it. Birkin wondered what had made him that way. He wondered where he got the nerve. However, he kept his eyes on his notes, pretending not to be thinking about him or anyone else.
> 
> Wesker was also quiet during the long walk and elevator ride down to the labs. He wondered if his harshness was scaring or angering William. He could not tell what Birkin was thinking; his face, still soft with boyhood, was unreadable. Normally able to read people as if they were books, Wesker found this trait rather aggravating. If there was one thing Wesker loathed, it was not knowing what was on another person's mind.
> 
> But now, William spoke. Wesker turned to him as they entered the main laboratory.
> 
> "I like your logic," Birkin said slowly. "I believe we'll make a good team."
> 
> Wesker couldn't help smiling a little.
> 
> "I think so, too," he agreed. He gazed around at the lab. "So, forget the other researchers, Birkin. From now on, it's you and me."
> 
> "Y-yes. All right."
> 
> They shook hands.


	2. Chapter 2

A week passed. It was now August 8, 1978, the second Monday that Wesker and Birkin spent working in the Arklay Facility. Outside the Spencer Mansion, the Arklay Mountains were warm, even this high in altitude. The animals of the dense forest roamed freely, and the birds chirped eagerly in the sunlight. Inside the Mansion, the air was cool and sterile. People clad in white coats scurried to and fro, none taking time to communicate or enjoy the summer. Birkin and Wesker had entered Phase 1 of their research. Deep within the walls of the Spencer Mansion, hidden away by the vibrant forest outside, evil was brewing. The T-Virus Project was underway.   
  
During this early point in the project, the only activity in the lab was preliminary study of the viruses themselves. Of course, they could not start testing these diseases right away with no plan or reason to. This meant that most of those days were spent with William staring into his microscope late into the night, while Wesker read files and worked out formulas on a large glass marker board.   
  
William loved this part of the job. Nothing fascinated him more than watching the behavior of those minute organisms. He found it amazing that particles which were invisible to the naked eye could cause such awesome effects on organisms millions of times their size. They were like tiny puzzles to be solved, fitting them together until the desired effects were accomplished.  
  
Conversely,Wesker was growing impatient with this form of research. The behavior of the viruses themselves did not matter to him; he only cared about the results they had on a living organism, specifically a human. He knew that his impatience was a weakness but he did not see that it mattered much. William had always been a superior intellect, the boy genius was without equal. Wesker figured the kid was a tool to be used to make up what he lacked, while Wesker in turn determined the research's real world purpose.

  
Today was a painfully familiar day. Birkin was peering into his microscope as usual. Wesker had been pretending to read his notes, but gave up and was now lounging on a chair. Instead of wasting time studying what they already had, he was thinking up new ways to improve the virus or create human bio-weapons. He lay sloppily on the chair, leaning his head all the way back and staring at the ceiling.   
  
"You seem bored, Wesker."   
  
Wesker looked at Birkin. He wondered how William could tell what he was doing without even looking up from his microscope. It was a bit unnerving.   
  
"I'm not bored," Wesker lied. He lifted the papers in his hand. "I'm simply contemplating our research."   
  
"You're impatient, aren't you?"   
  
Wesker took off his sunglasses and stared at Birkin. How did William know that? He hadn't moved his eyes from that microscope once! Neither did the two men really communicate, and Wesker would not reveal a weakness if they had.  
  
"Don't worry, Wesker," Birkin went on. "Once we get these first steps done, we'll move on to the more important things. Next is the inject, infect, and study cycle, I believe. They'll be bringing in the test subjects."   
  
"I can't wait," muttered Wesker. He sat back in the chair and put his shades back on. "Then we'll see some results."   
  
"It is true that one can't possibly tell the results of a disease until they actually witness it," Birkin said. "Well, the results can be simulated, but … actual testing is often the best way. I can tell that's your favorite part of the job."   
  
"Yes."   
  
"But you must realize that the structure of the virus' DNA and RNA are also important," Birkin explained. "Those are the controls of it all. It may take longer to analyze every part of the virus' structure instead of simply testing them out, but it will give you complete control over the virus. I want to get to the point where I can see the results on a test subject and instantly know every single contributing factor to those results."   
  
"Well, you can handle that end of things. I'll take care of the rest," Wesker said, only half-joking.   
  
The door opened. Wesker looked over. The old scientist Wesley had entered the lab carrying several trays of vials. Wesker narrowed his eyes.   
  
Over the past week, Wesker and Wesley had formed a mutual hatred for each other. Wesley thought Wesker was a disrespectful brat that had more confidence than intelligence. In turn, Wesker had come to think of Wesley as a senile old fool who was good for nothing but complaining.   
  
"Hello, Mr. Smithe," Birkin greeted Wesley, not looking up still. "Did you get the samples I requested?"   
  
"Yes, here they are," Wesley said, setting them down on the table. "May I ask why you requested samples from that particular subject?"   
  
"That subject has many viruses mixed within her blood," Birkin replied. For once, he turned his eyes from his microscope, though he had to rub them with his fists before looking at Wesley. The gesture made him look all of ten years old. "I've never seen such an environment full of disease before, all coexisting almost impossibly successfully.”  
  
Wesker turned his face to Birkin and Wesley.   
  
"Which test subject are you talking about?" he asked Birkin. "That woman?"   
  
Birkin looked over at him. "Yes."   
  
Wesker nodded, thinking about this. He went back to staring at the ceiling.   
  
"He doesn't do much, does he?" Wesley said quietly to Birkin.   
  
Wesker heard him, but pretended he hadn't.   
  
"Of course he does," Birkin defended Wesker as he opened the samples and slid them under the microscope lens. "Wesker is very important to my research. He's the one responsible for the basic principal of the T-Virus."   
  
"But you are the one doing all the real work," Wesley told him. "Wesker can barely call himself a man of science, he has no patience for it. Look at him sitting so lazily. Why should he be in charge? The only one who deserves to be head researcher is you."   
  
"I appreciate your expression of opinion," Birkin said tensely, "but I can't say I agree with you at all. Wesker is every bit the leader. In fact, he is more qualified to be head of the team than I am. I can't bother with politics and real world applications and business and all that. I don't have the time."   
  
"But he isn't—"   
  
"Mr. Smithe, please," William said firmly. "I won't tolerate nitpicking and jealousy. We are scientists, all a part of the same team, the same research. Whether you like Wesker or not has nothing to do with our work. He's doing his job and doing it well. That should be all that concerns you."   
  
Wesker smiled to himself. So, Birkin _did_ have a backbone after all. It would have been unnatural if such a brilliant kid was not at least a little bit arrogant.  
  
"Will that be all, Mr. Smithe?" William asked in the most frigid tone Wesker had ever heard him take. The sight of the sandy-haired boy looking haughtily up at the older man should have been comical, but there was an intensity in William's blue eyes that gave him authority.  
  
Wesley seemed to know that he was defeated—yet again. He muttered an agreement and then swept out of the lab in a huff. There was a moment of silence. Birkin began sliding samples into the microscope tray and preparing them. Wesker finally sat up.  
  
"That was decent of you."   
  
Birkin turned to Wesker. His eyes were still unfocused from staring into the microscope for so long, and he squinted a little. Wesker stood up from the chair, stretched, and grinned. Wesker rarely showed his teeth but when he did, the sharp white rows gave him a shark-like appearance. Birkin felt a little nervous. For some reason, whenever Wesker spoke to him, he felt that way. Perhaps Wesker did intimidate him after all. William was not very good at deciphering emotions, in others or in himself. He preferred the tangible, elements he could see and analyze and name.   
  
"What was?" William asked.   
  
"You stood up for me," Wesker said, "I respect that. May I ask what your reasons were?"   
  
"M-my reasons?" William asked, taken off guard. He would not have thought Wesker would care much about the gesture, let alone his motivation for it. "W-well, ah … " He turned his back on Wesker, looking down at the microscope. "We're a team now, aren't we? And, besides, it was all true." William turned back to Wesker, smiling boyishly. His hair fell over his young face. "It's you and me, remember?"   
  
It was Wesker's turn to be taken off guard. No one had ever really shown him acceptance and kindness like that before. He really didn't know what to do or say with this genius kid smiling at him that way. He just stared at him, feeling a little stupid and incongruously angry at William for causing him to be so dismayed.  
  
William turned back to his microscope.   
  
"When you told me that," he went on, "I was relieved. We got on well enough at the training center, but you were very aloof. At times, we were almost contentious in our competition. When we were assigned here, I couldn't tell whether the thought of working with me bothered you or not. I thought a person like you might dismiss someone like me. But it's good to know you're willing to work with me. After all, we wouldn't accomplish anything if we hated each other, would we?"   
  
No reply.   
  
"Wesker?"   
  
William heard the sound of the door closing. He looked up. Wesker had left. William sighed. He wondered why Wesker was so cold. It was certainly part of the reason William was intrigued by him, he only wished Wesker weren't that cold with _him_.

* * *

  
Wesker, meanwhile, had left the mansion. He was wandering around the courtyard, thinking about Birkin. He was disturbed, not by the fact that William had been kind to him, but by what he'd felt when he'd seen that smile. Birkin … he was only a kid. Not a kid to be underestimated, but still full of all the flaws of childhood: shyness, selfishness, single-mindedness, and a bit of innocence still left in him. Wesker should have dismissed him as a mere tool to be used to further his own goals for the research. He should not feel …

What _did_ he feel about William Birkin?  
  
Wesker stared past the courtyard to their new home. It was a beautiful mansion, he supposed, in its stately way. The decor was impeccable, the architecture creative and intricate. At first glance, you'd think it was nothing more than a luxurious estate. It was the perfect cover for the ugliness that lay underneath it. Knowing the nature of that ugliness, Wesker could not help but see the facade as sinister.  
  
"So, Wesker, what do you think of my facility?"  
  
Wesker whipped around. He found himself staring at the President of Umbrella himself, Oswell E. Spencer. Wesker's eyes narrowed. There were only two people in the world that Wesker had trouble reading. The first was William Birkin, who had a habit of going blank at times even though his mind was always working. The second was Spencer, the enigmatic head of Umbrella who guarded his thoughts and speech, even his mannerisms and expressions, extremely well. The trait was frustrating in William, but it was downright infuriating in Spencer.  
  
"Spencer," he greeted him softly. He raised his head and his voice. "What brings you here?"   
  
"I decided to check on my facility and my new workers," Spencer replied. He was equally as cold as Wesker, but his was a genteel chill that was barely perceptible, whereas Wesker could sometimes come off as sullen or taciturn. "I hear things are coming along well."   
  
"They are," Wesker said. "William is an excellent scientist."   
  
"And how are _you_ , Wesker?"   
  
Wesker bristled. He turned his face to avoid Spencer's. Behind his shades, an unusual pain shimmered in his eyes. His jaw tensed with hatred.   
  
"I'm fine, of course," Wesker replied tightly. His fist tightened. "I love working here."   
  
"No need to be so aloof, Albert." Spencer smirked. "We go a long way back."   
  
Wesker turned to face him. Spencer was giving him a piercing gaze. It seemed as if he could see the hatred in Wesker's eyes, even through the black lenses of his sunglasses.   
  
"How old were you when we met?" Spencer went on. "Seventeen?"   
  
"I was sixteen," Wesker said.   
  
"Ah, yes. How could I forget?" Spencer reached out and held Wesker's face by the chin. "You were so beautiful, and so _young_."   
  
Wesker stepped away from him instantly. Spencer smirked at him. If it had been anyone else, Wesker wouldn't have stayed quiet. However, this was the man who held his job in his hands. Wesker would not do anything to risk losing the job, and Spencer knew that.   
  
"What's wrong?" Spencer asked. "Don't you remember … back then?" He took a few steps towards his young employee. "You haven't changed, you know."   
  
Wesker turned his back on Spencer. His fists were so tight that his knuckles were white. Wesker's most valuable assets were his high level of self-control and his ability to manipulate others. Yet Spencer had always been outside of his influence, and he could not specifically say why. Wesker was not impressed by wealth or prestige, and though Spencer held all these professional opportunities as leverage over him, still there was something more that caused Wesker to back down to him every time they met. It was appalling, but Wesker had no way of fighting the inexplicable feeling.  
  
"I'm not beautiful," he told Spencer. Trying to lighten the mood to hide his discomfort, he added, "Everyone called me a reptile in school."   
  
"Some people find perfection inhuman." Spencer put a hand on Wesker's shoulder. "It is, perhaps. But what is humanity but ugliness? You are perfect and perfectly beautiful, Albert. If that makes you something others perceive to be inhuman, then so be it. Or do you suddenly care about what other people think of you? Hm?”  
  
Spencer's hand rubbed his shoulder, almost caressing him. Wesker hit his hand away, unable to stand it anymore. He began to storm off.   
  
"Stay away from me, Spencer," he managed to growl. “Stay the hell away.”  
  
Wesker was fuming. He ignored Spencer following him until the elder man grabbed his wrist. He jerked, but Spencer pulled him around to face him. The aristocratic calm was dashed away, and Spencer's eyes were hard.  
  
"Don't you walk away from me, boy," Spencer said icily. "Take a look around. Open your eyes." Spencer snatched off Wesker's sunglasses. "Look at where you are! You wouldn't be _anywhere_ if it weren't for me. I made you."   
  
Wesker snatched his wrist out of Spencer's grasp.   
  
"No one made me!" he said bitterly. "Yes, you brought me here, that may be true. But I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my own intelligence. So don't you pretend I owe you everything. The only person I owe is myself."   
  
"Is that so?" Spencer asked, his anger softening to condescending amusement. "You can stand here, in _my_ facility, and tell me that you don't owe me anything?"   
  
Wesker's face fell for a moment. Spencer shoved Wesker's sunglasses into his hands roughly.   
  
"You remember it, _boy_ ," he said. "I own you."   
  
Wesker turned his face, his jaw tense. Spencer smirked.   
  
Unknown to them, William Birkin had come into the courtyard looking for Wesker. When he chanced upon the confrontation, he hid himself behind the massive fountain. He watched the two men curiously. He had never seen Wesker so emotional that his skin flushed with pale red.  
  
"Of course," Spencer went on, "you aren't obligated to do anything other than what is stated in your contract. And don't think so highly of yourself as to think you're my only interest. No, you aren't the only snake in the desert." He smirked. "That William Birkin is an attractive enough boy, don't you think?"   
  
Wesker's eyes widened. Behind the fountain, William's eyes narrowed.   
  
"He's about the same age you were back then," Spencer went on. "Yes, sixteen is a very confusing age, don't you think, Wesker? The lines between obligation and requirement aren't always so clear. Nor pleasure and purpose."   
  
Wesker's fists tightened again. Spencer's eyes met his, and the two stared at each other. It was a test, and they both knew it.   
  
"No," Wesker finally said. He put on his sunglasses. "No. Not William."   
  
"Why not?" asked Spencer. "I don't see why you would care. Unless you are jealous. Are you jealous?"   
  
Wesker knew he was trapped. He drew a breath.

"You don't need Birkin," he said, fist trembling with rage. "Not when you have … me."   
  
Spencer lifted his head triumphantly.  
  
"Well, that is nice to know," he said. He reached out a hand and ran it through Wesker's pale blond hair. "I'll see you at dinner."   
  
"Yes."   
  
Spencer nodded and strode off. As he did, he smiled. Everything was going according to plan, inside and outside the lab.


	3. Chapter 3

When William and Wesker returned to the lab, they were both quiet. Wesker was quietly fuming and contemplating Spencer's demise. Birkin wanted to talk to him, but didn't know what to say. Thus, William silently continued staring into his microscope and Wesker stared blankly through some research files. Hours passed.   
  
"I think it's about time for dinner," Birkin finally broke the silence.   
  
Wesker glanced at the clock. Birkin was right. He stood up and stretched.   
  
"Yes," he said quietly. "We should go."   
  
Birkin turned away from the microscope. He looked at Wesker and their eyes met. Well, he _thought_ their eyes met; he wasn't sure due to Wesker's sunglasses.   
  
"Spencer will be there, won't he?" William asked tentatively.   
  
Wesker stiffened slightly.   
  
"Yes," he replied flatly, "I think so."   
  
William turned to his desk, staring down at it. His sandy hair fell over his eyes, as it was wont to do.   
  
"You know," he said softly, "you didn't have to—"

He shook his head and started over.

"I seem to have a nasty habit that can work for me or against me, which is happening upon private conversations."   
  
Wesker's eyes widened slightly behind his shades. Birkin turned and faced him. He looked sympathetic, which made Wesker turn red. He did not like being pitied, it was demeaning.   
  
"I'm—"   
  
"Don't," Wesker cut him off sharply. He shook his head. "Don't apologize. There's nothing to be sorry for. It has nothing to do with you, it's simply a part of my life."   
  
"It's more than that," Birkin told him. "Wesker, Spencer has no right to—"   
  
"Don't!" Wesker repeated, his voice like the crack of a whip in the quiet lab. "Don't treat me like some victim. I've made every single choice in my life for myself, and I don't regret anything. I know what I'm doing. Spencer isn't using me, _I'm_ using _him_! You're a child, you couldn't possibly comprehend this situation, and it isn't your business. Just because we're partners doesn't mean you have the right to pry into my personal life."   
  
"Wesker—"   
  
"Don't look at me like that,” Wesker said, his voice deadly quiet. “Don't you _dare_."   
  
There was a tense pause. Wesker expected William to cringe away or at least turn back to his microscope. Yet the boy went on staring at him with those unfathomable blue eyes. Wesker contemplated doing him violence, but the doors to the lab slid open just then. Spencer strode in, oblivious to or unconcerned with the atmosphere. William turned his face, looking down at his files again. Wesker's fist tightened.   
  
"Good evening, Birkin," Spencer said to him. "How is the research coming along?"   
  
"It's coming along perfectly."   
  
"The human test subjects will be arriving soon," Spencer told him. "Are you prepared to begin testing?"   
William nodded.   
  
"Excellent." Spencer turned his attention to the other youth. "Wesker. You will be joining me for dinner privately, yes?"   
  
" … Yes."   
  
Spencer nodded. "Good. Shall we go?"   
  
Wesker was silent. He moodily followed Spencer out.   
  
Birkin watched them go. He wanted to say something, although he didn't quite know why. There was nothing he could do, and Wesker clearly did not want his attention. He lowered his eyes and stared at his papers. It was none of his business. There was no logical reason to care. So why did he?

* * *

  
Spencer took Wesker to the room in the mansion where he was staying. They sat down to eat dinner. Wesker realized that Spencer had been planning this for a long time, probably since he'd decided to put him in charge of the Arklay Facility. That bastard was always one step ahead of him.   
  
Wesker tried to use the situation to his advantage. He subtly asked questions to try and figure out what was on Spencer's mind. However, Spencer was no one's fool. He managed to dodge each question without even hinting at his true intentions. He had always been that way, and Wesker was beginning to worry that he'd never get the information he needed.   
  
Spencer watched Wesker very closely. He enjoyed playing Wesker's little cat and mouse game. He'd purposefully say something that seemed to lead to a revelation, and then say something useless and unimportant. Every time he did this, he could see Wesker's fist tighten. It was very amusing. Besides, Wesker needed to learn these lessons and pass these tests. He was physically perfect but he needed training to rise to his full potential. This young man was special, so very special. If he was to usher in a new era of mankind, he had to be able to withstand the pressure.  
  
As the two finished eating, Wesker realized that his head was a bit fuzzy. He wondered if Spencer had drugged his drink. He stood up to stretch and wandered over to the window. It was ominously quiet outside. The moonlight could not penetrate the thick wall of trees, leaving the mansion isolated in darkness. Wesker realized just how alone he was, trapped here in a world of Spencer's own making.   
  
"Is something wrong, Wesker?" Spencer asked from the table. "You look pensive."   
  
"I'm only wondering."   
  
"Wondering what?"   
  
Wesker lowered his head.   
  
"Why anyone would want a perfect human bio-weapon?" he replied. "What the purpose may be? Opening this facility and beginning the research alone has cost millions. I just wonder why anyone would spend so much money on something so destructive?"   
  
Spencer chuckled, a deep low sound. He stood up and walked over to stand beside Wesker. His eyes fell on the window and the still night.   
  
"What's funny?" Wesker asked.  
  
"You," Spencer replied. "I think it's funny that you of all people would worry about destruction and someone else's money. I think it's funny that someone who has everything they ever wanted would question why they have it."   
  
Wesker tensed. His questions had been too obvious, and he knew it.   
  
"My conscious annoys me. I can't help worrying sometimes," Wesker lied. "If our creations were to ever go on the battlefield—"   
  
Spencer suddenly turned Wesker to face him and slammed him against the wall.   
  
"Don't play the humanitarian,” he ordered sternly, “it doesn't suit you. It is beneath you, Albert.”  
  
Spencer ran his finger across Wesker's face. Wesker turned his head, his brows furrowed deeply. He couldn't bring himself to look at Spencer, even as the man's hand slid his lab coat off and unbuttoned his shirt. Wesker's face turned crimson. It took all his effort to not move, especially as the man slid his tongue over his chest. Wesker cringed, shutting his eyes behind his sunglasses.   
  
"You're trembling," Spencer told him. "Or I should say, you're _cowering_."   
  
" _No_ ," Wesker tore away from his boss. "NO! I'm not going to do this again! You stay the hell away from me."   
  
He went for the door, but Spencer caught him by the wrist. Wesker struggled against his grasp, but Spencer was surprisingly strong. Wesker was slammed against the wall again. This time, Spencer struck him straight across the face. His shades flew off, hitting the ground.   
  
"You _listen_ to me, boy," Spencer hissed. "You do what I tell you, when I tell you. Do you understand me?" He hit Wesker again. "Understand? You do what you're told."   
  
Wesker faced him with a murderous look. His blue eyes glinted with fury but he said nothing.   
  
"I'm only protecting you, Wesker," Spencer told him. He touched the side of Wesker's reddened face. "This mansion is very complex. Curious people have been known to vanish without a trace here. People who do not follow my orders. You understand, don't you?"   
  
Spencer brought his lips to Wesker's. The youth struggled, protesting as best he could. Spencer let him go. Wesker tore away from him, stumbling forward. The drug Spencer had put in his drink was affecting his coordination. He gripped the back of a chair for support.   
  
"Don't do this, Spencer," Wesker said. He meant it to sound demanding, but it sounded more like a plea. He sneered at himself and shook his head, trying to clear it. There was no question of having been drugged, it was even affecting his mind. He could feel his carefully constructed facade cracking.  
  
Spencer was smiling with jarring affection, his expression almost fatherly. There would come a time when Wesker would break the bonds of obedience, he knew. All strong-willed children broke free of their guardians eventually. But it was too soon to let Albert go. Spencer needed more data from him, more service. Albert had to be reigned in. The pleasure of it was only a bonus, Spencer told himself. This was a necessity, first and foremost.

Necessity or not, Spencer could not deny his attraction to the youth. His body was slim but all hard muscle, not a hint of the excess baggage this sloppy generation always carried. He was six feet tall, taller than Spencer was now in his older age. His features were precise, clean, perfect of symmetry and form. With his pale hair and blue eyes, he was the dream Spencer believed the world was foolish to spurn during World War II: pure Aryan beauty. _And I made him,_ Spencer thought as he took Albert's face into both hands. He kissed him, hungry to taste his perfect creation. _And he is all mine._  
  
"I said, no!" Wesker yelled at him, trying to push him away. "Get away from me, goddamn it!"   
  
Spencer tried to hold him down but Wesker continued to struggle. Finally, Spencer held his wrists down together firmly. He took off his belt and used it to tie the boy's wrists together. Then, he smirked down at the furious young man. Wesker looked murderous again, despite the underlying fear on his face. His ferocity was lovely, Spencer thought, it gave that beauty of his a dangerous edge.  
  
"You stay still," Spencer told him. He hushed him, stroking his face. “Stay still.”  
  
That did it. Not able to do much of anything, Wesker spat on Spencer's face. Spencer's eyes widened. So, Wesker was not perfect just yet. More training would be required, and a lot of it.  
  
"So," Spencer murmured, wiping the saliva off his cheek. He swung back and slapped Wesker so hard across the face that it felt like his face would explode. He winced and swore under his breath. But before he could do or say anything else, he was struck again on the other side of his face. Spencer hit him again and again, but Wesker gritted his teeth and refused to cry out.  
  
Spencer held the youth by the neck. Wesker was heaving with fury, but could do nothing. He turned his eyes in shame, unable to face the man.   
  
"I own you," Spencer repeated. "Say it."   
  
Wesker set his jaw and said nothing.   
  
"You will learn to respect me." Spencer turned Wesker's face to his own. "You will learn that such pride will only get you so far. Of all the people in the world that you are so much better than, you are still not superior to _me_."   
  
Wesker was rolled onto his stomach. He stared blankly at the sheets as he felt Spencer's hands unfastening his belt and sliding his clothes off. He shut his eyes.   
  
Revenge. It was the only thought that got him through Spencer's abuse. At this time, not even the money or the power mattered to him, only the thought that he'd one day use everything Spencer gave him against him.

* * *

  
William was up late that night in the suite of rooms that he and Wesker shared. He told himself that he was staying up to continue his research, but the truth was that he was worried about Wesker. Wesker did not seem the type who would submit to being used, even if he protested the fact that Spencer was using him. Deep down, he had to know that he was being abused. What if his temper got the best of him? It didn't seem likely, since Wesker was so in control of himself, but Birkin knew everyone had a breaking point. What if Wesker suddenly disappeared altogether, and William found him one day in the basement like that woman: a wasted life, a failed test subject?  
  
Birkin exhaled. He glanced at the clock. It was past midnight now, and Wesker still had not come back.   
  
William thought about the woman test subject he and Wesker had seen. Had she once been used by Spencer too? Was she a victim whose temper had led her down the path of destruction? Perhaps at one time she had been like Wesker, healthy and bright, and now she was less than a shadow of her former self. She was walking death, her veins flowing with more disease than blood. What had she done to end up that way?   
  
The door banged open. William jumped, spooked by the memory of that woman. He whipped around before he could think better of it. To his relief, it was only Wesker.   
  
But Wesker did not look well. He stumbled into the room, his sunglasses hanging crooked on his face. His shirt was partially open and his belt was hanging loose. All his blond hair had fallen over his face, not at all neat and slicked back as usual. He looked pale. William stared, not knowing what to say. As Wesker stepped into the light, he saw that his face was bruised and red.   
  
William uttered something under his breath that sounded oddly like the reaction he'd had to that woman. Wesker turned to him. They looked at each other for a long moment. Then, Wesker looked away.   
  
"I didn't think you'd be awake," he said tonelessly.  
  
"Well, I had some—I had some research," Birkin said distractedly, lifting the papers he'd been ignoring.   
Wesker nodded absently. He opened the drawers of a bureau and began getting clothes.   
  
"Your-your face is—"   
  
"I know," Wesker interrupted.   
  
There was an uncomfortable pause. Wesker shut the bureau drawer hard. He glanced at Birkin, then headed into the bathroom. The door slammed behind him. Moments later, the shower could be heard running.   
  
Birkin sat back on his bed. He wondered why he felt so sympathetic towards Wesker. Birkin was not heartless, but he was cold to some extent (he could not be working for Umbrella if not), and he usually was not very sympathetic. So why did he want to do something to help his older research partner? Was he simply uncomfortable with Wesker's invulnerability being chipped away? Was it the guilt of knowing Wesker had allowed Spencer to use him to keep him from using William instead?  
  
Birkin frowned a little. Wesker had protected him, but why?   
  
When he'd first met Wesker, Birkin had thought the older teen had no heart whatsoever. He barely even looked at William, save for when they were competing; everyone else he simply ignored. He spoke of the horrors of disease without so much as a flinch, related tragedies that would make most cry monotonously. Even inside, his eyes were usually hidden behind his dark sunglasses, and those light blue orbs were no less inscrutable without them. He had seemed almost inhuman.   
  
But now Birkin saw that Wesker had given that impression on purpose. He _was_ human, but he tried his best to appear the opposite. There were, of course, many things he did not care about; he was practically amoral. However, Birkin had seen him care about this or that on occasion. He wondered, could he be something, some _one_ , that Wesker now cared about?  
  
William stared out the window. There was a huge yellow moon looming in the distance.   
  
If Wesker cared about him at all, _why_ did he care about him? Was it simply because he knew Birkin had the genius to take his ideas to a higher level? Was it because Birkin was his colleague? Was it because Birkin respected him? Or was it something else?   
  
The bathroom door opened and Wesker came out. He was wearing new clothes and drying his hair roughly with a towel. He was not wearing his shades, and Birkin saw an empty look in his eyes. He was obviously forcing himself to remain indifferent, as if nothing could hurt him unless he allowed it to.  
  
But Birkin knew it must hurt. He was too young to understand the extent of that kind of pain, but he could sense it. Deep down, it had to hurt. William wondered how the older youth could stand it.  
  
Wesker sat down on his bed slowly with a soft sigh.  
  
"You know," William attempted to speak. "You didn't have to—I mean, I could have—"   
  
"No," Wesker cut him off sharply, "you couldn't have. I wouldn't let—" He sat against the headboard of the bed. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I chose this. You didn't. That's all I have to say."   
  
"You chose this?" William asked. "Really? Tell me, how did you meet Spencer?"   
  
Wesker looked at him with a dark frown. He stared at William until he had to look away.  
  
"I'm not going to go into this, Birkin," he said. "Not with you. Not with anyone."   
  
He shut off the light without another word and lay down to go to sleep. William stared at him. In only the moonlight, with his hair down, Wesker looked very young. Birkin had always thought of him as being 'the older one' of them, an adult, really. But tonight …   
  
"It just doesn't seem fair," William said softly.   
  
"Nothing is ever fair, Birkin," Wesker replied. "Instead of questioning the fairness of a situation, you'd better be prepared to make sacrifices. The only question you should ask yourself is whether or not the sacrifices you're making are worth it. You remember that or you'll never get anywhere."   
  
William contemplated his words. He figured that Wesker thought the sacrifices he was making would be worth it. So, there was nothing he could do.   
  
"Wesker?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"I am sorry."   
  
With that, Birkin lay down in his bed. Wesker's eyes widened a little. A long moment passed, and William figured he'd fallen asleep. But then, he spoke once again.   
  
"Thanks … William."

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Wesker awoke to the sound of a typewriter. He shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his side. The sunlight forced him to blink his eyes open. Through the bright blur, he saw Birkin sitting at his desk, typing away.   
  
"So, you finally woke up."   
  
As usual, Birkin knew what Wesker was doing without looking at him.  
  
"It's past noon," Birkin told Wesker. He smiled a little. "You missed Spencer. He left two hours ago."   
  
"Left?" Wesker asked groggily.   
  
Birkin nodded.   
  
Wesker sat up in bed slowly. He stretched and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.   
  
"Spencer left?" he echoed. "I thought he said that he would be staying here for a while … "   
  
"He changed his mind."   
  
"Why?" Wesker stood. "William, you didn't tell him anything, did you?"   
  
"I may have."  
  
Wesker stared at him. He was relieved and surprised that Birkin had done such a thing for him. He felt like thanking him, but somehow couldn't.   
  
"That was a stupid thing to do," he said instead. "I won't be surprised if you vanish by tonight and I end up doing lab tests on you the next day."   
  
"No, Spencer needs me alive, just like he needs you," Birkin said calmly. "Don't worry so much."   
  
"With Spencer running this place, what else can I do?"   
  
Birkin stopped typing. He looked up at Wesker. There was quiet confidence on his face that Wesker had not seen before.   
  
"You could try thanking me," William said.   
  
Wesker raised his eyebrows in surprise. What was he supposed to say to this sixteen-year-old kid that was asking for gratitude? Where had this smugness come from? He had always thought of William as a nervous kid that had no spine, but that was not the case at all, was it? Birkin's quietness could not be attributed to shyness at all. He had been testing the waters, feeling his way around. One week had passed. He was now more comfortable with Wesker, Spencer, and his job. Birkin had always known exactly what he was doing.   
  
"Well?"   
  
Scarier than that realization was the fact that Birkin managed to be commanding while being as mildly pleasant as ever. Wesker shook his head, chuckling.  
  
"Well, Birkin." He looked down at the boy. "I certainly did underestimate you, didn't I?"   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"You knew,” Wesker said. "You knew what you were doing from day one. I always thought that you didn't mean to ignore people when you glued your eyes to your notes, but now I know it's deliberate. You know the line between rudely ignoring people, like I do, and looking busy, and you never cross it, do you?" Wesker laughed a little. "No, you've always known exactly what you were doing, how you would appear to people."   
  
"Yes," Birkin affirmed. "If you preoccupy yourself with things that matter, people stop expecting you to bother with their petty lesser affairs. If they believe I'm simply an awkward little boy, what do I care? They're the ones that have to clean up the unimportant stuff for me.”  
  
"What did you tell Spencer to make him change his plans and leave so suddenly?" Wesker asked. "You didn't make any special deals with him, did you?"   
  
"No, of course not." William stood. "I simply told him some facts and whatnot. He was convinced that leaving you alone for a while would be the best option. I took care of it … which you have yet to thank me for."   
  
Though he was impressed, Birkin's arrogance irritated Wesker. However capable William was, he _was_ still a kid, and Wesker _was_ the stronger one of them. He couldn't let Birkin get carried away with himself. He sniffed cynically and strode past Birkin with heavy steps.  
  
"Don't hold your breath."   
  
With that, he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Birkin laughed and sat down. He hadn't expected Wesker to thank him, but it had been worth a try.   
  
Wesker came out soon. He threw off his nightshirt and pulled on a black shirt. He caught Birkin eyeing him for a moment, and made a mental note of the small spark of interest there. That might be useful in keeping this precocious kid from getting too bold.  
  
"You thanked me last night," Birkin sighed. "I don't see why you can't today."   
  
"I was drugged last night, and half-asleep," Wesker replied. He crossed his arms. "I'm telling you, don't hold your breath."   
  
With that, he left the room. Birkin shook his head, still amused. He finished typing up his notes, tore them out of the typewriter. Then, he left to go find the taciturn man that may just be a friend now.

* * *

  
Wesker never spoke about the incident with Spencer again. Birkin was curious, but he knew better than to try and bring it up. They spent their time in the lab, working as usual. The days went by and it was as if it had never happened at all. Wesker never did thank William, but the youth could see the gratitude in his eyes. That was enough.   
  
August 20, 1978 rolled in with a raging thunderstorm. The gray skies opened up and spewed water and electricity down on the Arklay Mountains. The weather seemed to tell of the ominous happenings about to take place in the Spencer Mansion.   
  
Wesker and William stood outside by the helipad. Birkin was holding a large, black umbrella over his head. Wesker stood in the rain, his white lab coat blowing around him in the wind. The rain pelted down on him, but he took no notice. Even on this dark rainy day, he wore his signature sunglasses.  
  
An Umbrella helicopter was landing. The roar of the engine slowly died down. Wesker watched as a team of scientists from the Umbrella pharmaceutical company based in nearby Raccoon City climbed off. William, as usual, had his eyes fixed on his notes.   
  
A man from Umbrella approached them. His eyes went from William to Wesker. Between the sunglasses and William's eyes being glued to his papers, the two youths were inscrutable.  
  
"You are … the co-head of research, Birkin?" he asked.   
  
"No. Wesker." He motioned towards Birkin. "That's Birkin."   
  
The man glanced at Birkin, and did a double take when he realized how young he was. Fortunately, he was either too tactful or too hurried to comment.  
  
"Fine, fine." He handed the two some documents. "Sign here. We are delivering your test subjects."   
  
Wesker signed. He smirked cynically. How funny it was that these men could deliver humans as simply as delivering mail! “Sign here”, just like UPS or the postal service.   
  
The man took the documents from Wesker after he signed and hurried back to the helicopter. After a few moments, guards began to get off the chopper. Between two rows of guards came the subjects. There had to be at least ten of them in the first group, and then more were led out. They wore full black hoods without holes to see through, the fabric sticking to their faces when it was soaked by the rain. Their ankles and hands were chained together, like a prison chain gang. They all wore the same white uniform, somewhere between medical scrubs and prison garb, with the Umbrella logo stamped on the breast above individual numbers. They stumbled by sluggishly. Wesker could tell they had been drugged to prevent trouble. He recalled Spencer's drug in his veins and had to suppress a shudder.  
  
"These are from the Raccoon City jails," the lead guard told Wesker. "It would be too risky to kidnap normal people at this point. However, they are all in top condition. Most of them are nothing more than car thieves, thugs, petty crime offenders. No families or family that doesn't care about them. They're sedated, so they're harmless. Good?"   
  
Wesker nodded. "Perfect."   
  
He stared at the prisoners as they were led into the elevator. Whatever they had done, Wesker was certain it was not enough to merit being sent to this hell. They would have no second chances now; their lives were over. Like that woman, they were victims of fate and science.   
  
Wesker glanced at Birkin as they headed inside. Birkin remained staring at his notes. He did not seemed bothered by the prisoners at all. Wesker hoped his callousness would hold up when the time came to do the actual tests.   
  
They decided they would eat lunch before beginning the live trials. The ever-annoying Wesley Smithe had told them that if they did not eat now, they would not be able to later. Wesker and Birkin never lost their appetites, but they decided to humor the old bastard regardless.  
  
In the dining hall, Birkin read through his notes as he ate. Wesker also went over his documents. They were both tense with anticipation.   
  
"What effects do you think the virus will have on the subjects?" Wesker asked, sipping his soda.   
  
"Well, the overall effect will be, I believe, death," Birkin said. "We aren't shooting for a full victory with the first round. I simply want to see what effect, if any, the virus has on the DNA."   
  
"Once we see how the virus mutates the DNA, we can work on a way to control the mutation, am I right?"   
  
"That's right," Birkin replied. "With the T-Virus, we want to create a way to manipulate human DNA through the DNA and RNA of a virus. Umbrella's original virus does have some manipulative qualities, but I believe that combining it with Ebola would allow us to fully utilize the properties of both diseases. If the T-Virus Project is successful, we will be able to take any human and mutate their DNA simply by infecting them with the virus."   
  
"And the changes in their DNA will make them physically stronger, so they will not die very easily," Wesker said. He popped a forkful of food into his mouth. "They will be practically immune to death, and programmed to do only two things: kill and infect others."   
  
"I suppose so," Birkin said, a bit disinterested. He could care less about the bio-weapon aspect of the research; what fascinated him was the virus itself. He could not wait to see how it behaved inside live human matter!  
  
"So," old Wesley spoke up, "we are beginning the first tests today, are we?"   
  
Both Wesker and William ignored him.   
  
"Are you prepared for such studies?" Wesley went on. "I mean, regardless of what you will undoubtedly say, Wesker, you two are little more than children. Eighteen, _sixteen_? Are you prepared to kill in the name of science?"   
  
"Mr. Smithe, how can you question our ability to do something before we've even attempted to do it?" Wesker asked flatly. "Until the moment where we freeze before infecting the test subject comes, I would appreciate it if you would kindly _keep your mouth shut_."   
  
"Yes," Birkin said, "and after all, I recall reading that Edward Ashford was quite young when he began his research."   
  
"Well! That's a different case entirely!" Wesley said pompously. "The Ashfords are a family of geniuses; they have science in their blood. Edward was working on the original virus when he was half your age!"   
  
"Well, now he's dead," William said. "He's dead, and his facility has produced nothing useful since it was built! If Edward's gene pool harbors genius, then why is his own son, Alexander, so useless? He's nearly _double_ my age, and he's accomplished nothing."   
  
"Funny thing that you're trying to rush genius," Wesley said angrily. "You barely understand your own theories. If Edward Ashford were here, he'd teach you both a thing or two about science."   
  
"I don't have time for this,” William said brashly. "I'm a real scientist, I won't waste my time with old men who have their faces so buried in the crap of the past that they can't see the future."

“Neither of us do,” Wesker agreed. “This is a laboratory, not a museum for fossils like you.”  
  
William had already headed for the doors to the main hall. Wesker followed, amused by William's haughty attitude. Wesley also stood.   
  
"At least I didn't get my job by selling my body to the boss—and I don't mean for research purposes."   
  
Wesker froze and William flinched. He could see Wesker's fists tighten and he knew the comment had hurt. Murmurs traveled the room as the staff stared at Wesker. Wesley sat back in his chair, comfortable in his little triumph.  
  
Wesker turned around slowly and stared at Wesley from the other side of the room. They glared at one another. Wesker took a step towards the table.   
  
"You will die for that, old man," Wesker said, his tone almost casual. “Granted, I doubt there will be much to do with your decrepit old body, but I'm sure William could find a use for it.”

“There is knowledge to be gained from even the most insignificant organisms,” William agreed.  
  
Wesker stormed out and slammed the doors behind him.  
  
"Hmph. Worthless child," Wesley grumbled, sitting down.   
  
"You're the worthless one!" Birkin snapped. "All you do is waste your time lamenting the loss of that _stupid_ Ashford! You cling to jealousy of Wesker and I because you can't accept your lack of advancement is due to your own inability. Your precious Ashford himself would have made you test fodder by now if he were still here!”  
  
Birkin followed Wesker's lead and left, slamming the doors.  
  
"Nasty things, kids," grumbled Wesley. "If I had had any, I would have gladly donated them to science.”

* * *

  
Birkin found Wesker already in the lab. He was making preparations for the tests they were to conduct. Through the glass wall that separated the lab from the observation room, Birkin saw a test subject being led into the observation cell.   
  
"I'd give anything for it to be Wesley in there," Wesker said venomously. "Mark my words, Birkin, he'll pay for what he said."   
  
"I'm sorry he hurt you."   
  
"Hurt?" Wesker turned on Birkin. " _Hurt_? He didn't hurt me. I don't let people hurt me. I'm simply annoyed. Don't I have reason to be?”  
  
"Of course. But if you really didn't care, you wouldn't have bothered to threaten him. You would have been indifferent, not angry." Birkin approached him slowly. "But you're furious, because you do care."   
  
"Birkin, you're becoming increasingly outspoken," Wesker noted. "It isn't a positive change."   
  
"You don't have to be so cold with me."   
  
Wesker didn't reply. He took off his sunglasses and placed them on the table. Not even glancing at Birkin, he put on his white lab coat and plastic gloves. He began to take various test tubes and open them. Then, he started measuring and mixing.   
  
"Don't shut me out, Wesker."   
  
"Be quiet and help me with this."   
  
Birkin came to his side. They both began to prepare the virus. William lifted a syringe and filled it with the virus.   
  
_BANG!_

The sudden noise made William jump, even Wesker lifted his head sharply. The test subject, a middle-aged woman, was banging on the glass. She looked frantic, the sedatives must have worn off. She banged on the glass desperately. Though they could not hear her words they could read her lips clearly.  
  
"Help me! Help me, please! Help me!"   
  
Wesker jabbed the intercom button.  
  
"Security!" he snapped. "Who's in charge of medication? The test subject is conscious! Get down here now!"   
  
Birkin stared through the glass. His eyes met the lady's. For the first time, he realized the true meaning of 'human test subject'. He stared at this healthy, terrified woman … who would soon be dead. It wasn't simply a test subject or some body to be played with: it was a living, breathing human being. Her eyes begged him for salvation. Despite the obvious hopelessness of her situation, her gaze was wild with the hope for rescue.   
  
The guards could be seen rushing into the observation cell. They roughly dragged the woman away from the glass. They held her down on the bed and strapped her to it. Birkin watched the needle pierce her arm as they sedated her.   
  
"Birkin? Birkin!"   
  
William turned to Wesker. He looked a little pale. The reality of what he would be doing for the next part of his life had hit him. Suddenly, the sterile smell of chemicals that he had always been used to was noxious and suffocating to him. Even as he looked at Wesker, all he could see was that woman's eyes.   
  
"We're ready to administer the virus," Wesker told Birkin. He held the younger scientist by the shoulders. "Did you hear me? We're ready to begin. Let's go."   
  
Birkin shook his head, drawing a breath. "I can't, I-I—”  
  
"Birkin, snap out of it," Wesker said worriedly. He shook him. "Birkin! Listen to me!"   
  
William stared at him. He looked lost and very, very young. Wesker would have felt sorry for him if he weren't so impatient to get started. Had he overestimated William after all? Was the boy weaker than his arrogance suggested?  
  
"You know we've come too far to back out now," Wesker told him. "We both saw that woman in the basement. Understand? Now we can either do this or live a fate worse than death. Sacrifices, Birkin, remember? Look at me! We have to do this. If we don't, someone else will."   
  
"But I—I, ah … ”  
  
"Do you want to die? Do you want me to die?"   
  
"Of course not!"   
  
"That's what will happen if you fail us!" Wesker told him sternly. "It's you and me, all or nothing. If you don't pull through, I'm nothing. Do you understand me? You'll be killing us both."   
  
Wesker released him. He picked up the syringe and held it out to Birkin. His cold eyes gleamed in the fluorescent lights.   
  
"Take it." He held it out further. "Go on. Take it!"   
  
Birkin looked at him. He drew a breath, and then took the syringe. He nodded at Wesker, though he was still pale, and left the room. Wesker turned to the window. He watched Birkin enter the observation cell on the other side of the glass and approach the woman.   
  
"Don't disappoint me now, Birkin," Wesker muttered, though Birkin could not hear him. "We've come too far."   
  
Wesker waited with baited breath. Then, to his great relief, Birkin stuck the needle into the woman's arm. He was as professional and precise as one could be. Wesker exhaled in relief. He realized that his heart was racing.   
  
"This is why I hate depending on others," he muttered to himself. "Damn."   
  
Birkin came back in. He disposed of his gloves and washed his hands thoroughly. The color had returned to his face.   
  
"You did the right thing, Birkin," Wesker told him. "Now Phase 1 of the T-Virus Project has truly begun."   
  
"It wasn't as hard as I'd anticipated," Birkin said quietly. He turned to Wesker. "Once she was unconscious, she was only a body again. Am I … Am I a monster?"   
  
"No. You're a scientist." Wesker turned to the glass in front of the observation cell. "Don't worry about it anymore."   
  
Birkin stepped next to him. They both stared at their victim.   
  
"The effects should be visible within a day," Birkin said. "Her body is hooked to those machines, so we can monitor any physical changes from here." He strode over to a computer and sat down before it. "This machine will display the feeds of the cameras inside the cell, so we can see changes to the skin, eyes, body, etc. It also is equipped to monitor her vitals. Every hour, we will have samples brought in to study."   
  
"I assume we'll be working through the night again," Wesker said.   
  
"Yes." Birkin smiled. "This is what I live for."   
  
Wesker also smiled. He'd finally found someone as pragmatic as he was. Birkin's detachment was more childish, true. It was the selfish aloofness of a child, the kind of child that would throw a puppy off a cliff simply to see what would happen. Still, it hardened Birkin, and it would allow him to achieve much here. If there was ever anyone Wesker could actually enjoy working with, it was William Birkin.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Summer passed in a rush of testing and death. As expected, the preliminary tests ended in failure. However, Birkin gathered more and more information by the day. It was hard for Wesker to keep track of every detail, but William assured him that they were making progress. Wesker took his word for it.   
  
Autumn brought a few small victories as far as the research went. Their eighth test subject had managed to live three weeks longer than they'd expected. It also had some very interesting effects on the DNA. Throughout October and November, Birkin worked relentlessly to fix the glitches in the virus and enhance it.   
  
In the second week of December, they began testing again on their ninth test subject. By now, the Spencer Mansion was covered in snow and ice. Soon, Christmas Eve came. Of course, it was spent in the lab.   
  
"Everyone's gone, we have the entire mansion practically to ourselves."   
  
Birkin looked away from his microscope. Wesker was sitting lazily in his chair, filing some reports.   
  
"Why did everyone leave?" Birkin asked, blinking.   
  
Wesker laughed.   
  
"Not everyone is as devoted as we are," he replied. "It's going to be Christmas, and most of the staff had someone they wanted to spend it with. Some people call it 'having a life,' but I say it's simply a waste of time."   
  
Birkin turned to his microscope.   
  
" … I suppose," he said quietly. "Wesker, do you have any family?"   
  
"That doesn't matter."   
  
"Don't shut me out, Albert," Birkin sighed.   
  
"I'm not shutting you out," Wesker said. "I simply think personal issues should stay out of the workplace, that's all. Simply because it's Christmas Eve doesn't mean we have to become emotional and nostalgic."   
  
"So cold … "   
  
"Well, I'm better off," Wesker declared. "Don't start trying to change me, Birkin. I mean it."   
  
"I'm not trying to change you," Birkin told him, "I'd never do that. I'm just curious."   
  
"I'm not one of your test subjects!"   
  
"I never said … " Birkin trailed off. He stood. "Why are you being so defensive?"   
  
"It's 9:00 already. Time I ate something," Wesker said, ignoring the question. "I'll be upstairs."   
  
He walked out in a hurry. Birkin followed him. They went through the turning halls and corridors quickly. Wesker's long-legged stride was hard to keep up with.   
  
"You don't have to try to impress me!" Birkin went on as he jogged after Wesker. "I just want to know you better!"   
  
"You're too curious for your own good."   
  
"I admit that you fascinate me, but it isn't a scientific sort of-of curiosity." Birkin sighed. "Why do you push me away? I've never been fond of the theory of friendship, but I want to be your friend, not just your colleague."   
  
Wesker stopped and faced him.   
  
"Why?" he asked. "Why do you care?"   
  
"What do you want me to say?" Birkin asked weakly. "Do you want me to quote millions of scientific theories on love? Do you want me to state the psychological theories? What?"   
  
"What did you just say?" Wesker asked. His blue eyes narrowed. "Scientific theories on what?"   
  
Birkin turned red. He took a step back. "Umm."   
  
Wesker shook his head, walking backwards slowly.   
  
"Stay away from me, Birkin," he warned. "Don't you _ever_ say that again. Stupid, stupid kid."   
  
He stormed off down the hall. Birkin kept after him.   
  
"I don't want to be like this," Wesker muttered as they got into the elevator. He leaned against the elevator wall. "I'm not … "   
  
"Wesker."   
  
"Don't _do_ this to me, Birkin," Wesker said wearily. "Spencer has me mixed up. I don't know what I—" He shut his eyes. "I don't want any sort of relationship outside of a working one."   
  
"I'm sorry." Birkin leaned against the wall too. "I don't know what's the matter with me, either. Maybe it's the chemicals. Hormones. I don't know. I've been alone for so long, maybe I just don't care who it is as long as … "   
  
Birkin turned to face Wesker. He leaned his face up and brought their lips together. Wesker's eyes widened. He froze completely.   
  
The elevator door opened. Birkin pulled away, smiling softly at his colleague. He touched Wesker's perplexed, troubled face. Wesker stood flat against the wall as if he was glued there. He looked more afraid of him than he ever had of any virus or test subject.   
  
"You don't have to say anything," Birkin said. "Just know that I care for you, okay?"   
  
He walked out of the elevator and into the Grand Hall.   
  
Wesker stayed staring. He could feel his face turning red as he left the elevator. Birkin's kiss had felt very different from anything Spencer had ever done to him.   
  
Wesker entered the Grand Hall, staring at the floor. This was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. Why did Birkin have to push it? Since when was Birkin bisexual, anyway? He knew that Birkin liked women, he had seen him eyeing some of the more attractive female researchers.  
  
Before he reached the dining room, Wesker stopped in front of a window. He stared out at the falling snow. The warmth of Birkin's touch lingered in his mind although he tried to push it out. He didn't want to feel this way, not about Birkin or anyone else. He had finally escaped Spencer, why would he rush into another ill-considered relationship? He was better off alone, he always had been. Why change that?  
  
"All Spencer's fault," Wesker said softly as he gazed out the window. His eyes hardened behind his sunglasses and his brow furrowed. "Damn it. I don't know anything anymore because of you, you bastard."   
  
Wesker felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked at the reflection in the window. Birkin was standing behind him.   
  
"I met him in school, you know," Wesker said distantly. "It's so damn ironic. You see, I usually skipped school during the fall, since the preliminaries are basically useless. I would get all the work given to me ahead of time, turn it in, then sit the classes out. But that one day I was bored, so I decided to go to class … just for that one day."   
  
Birkin was quiet.  
  
"So, I went to school for that one day," Wesker bowed his head, "and then I met him. Naturally, it was during science class. He came in to speak with the professor. I was busy dissecting a frog, but I took a moment to glance up at the interruption. It was only for a moment, but I found myself glancing up at him again. There was a certain presence he had that made me look twice. Then he caught my eye.”  
  
Wesker's fists tightened. Birkin gripped his shoulder.   
  
"I don't know how, but I knew then that this man would change my life forever," Wesker said. "He smirked at me, that same smug thin smile he still uses, and I looked away and went back to cutting open that frog. I didn't like Spencer, but I knew he would play a part in my fate. I didn't even believe in fate, but that's how it felt. It was strange.  
  
"I didn't see him for a while after that. But then we met again near my seventeenth birthday. He would talk to me about the news and science—just small talk for a while. I knew he had to be busy, after all, he _was_ the President of Umbrella. Yet, he made time to shoot the breeze with me, with a mere child. All the time, I wondered what he wanted.   
  
"Then one day we got into the subject of bio-weapons. As luck would have it, I was fascinated by the subject. Spencer and I talked about it for hours. It was then that I noticed a change in Spencer. He seemed very satisfied, and he became more attentive to me. After that, he invited me to his home for the holidays."   
  
Wesker paused for a moment, having to regain control of himself.  
  
"I thought he had a daughter that he wanted to introduce to me or something," he said. "You know, something stupid like that. I had nothing to lose, so I accepted. I went over to his home … on Christmas Eve. I still remember … it was snowing just like this. I was happy.”

Wesker made a scornful sound in his throat at his own past naivete.   
  
"Then I arrived at Spencer's home. The house was empty—quiet, like this. Whoever said silence is sacred must have been insane. There's no sound in heaven, hell, or earth that could be as disturbing as that silence as we walked into his home. I think I realized then that that bastard was planning something. But even at that age, I couldn't have guessed what."   
  
Wesker turned to Birkin.   
  
"We had dinner and talked." He ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a sigh. "He made me promises, so many promises. He told me how bright I was, how promising. He said that I could be a valuable asset to Umbrella. He said that he was impressed by me, that I was the kind of boy he had always been trying to find.

“I should have known that he was laying it on too thickly. But I never had any family. I grew up in some strange orphanage, and then I was on my own. I wanted to believe that someone had finally recognized me for all my many talents. I was only a kid—a _stupid_ , gullible child.”

Wesker banged his fist on the windowsill. He was quiet for a moment, and then went on more quietly,

“And I believed him. I was arrogant enough to believe that this man simply wanted to be my patron because I deserved one. I _did_ deserve one, of course, but I should have known nothing in life comes without some price to pay. But I thought that all I had to do was prove myself to him, and of course I could. I was smart. I was so damn _smart_.”  
  
Wesker banged his fist once against the wall.   
  
"But no one is smarter than Spencer—at least, not yet," he said. "He took me down to his private lab so that I could show him my theoretical formulas and ideas. I was so busy showing off that I didn't notice the look in his eyes. I couldn't see what he was planning. That is, not until I was staring into a microscope … and he … came up behind me and put an arm around my waist. I knew what he wanted then, I had to have known. But I didn't accept it, I simply … I stood there, and … he pulled me closer than I wanted to be, closer than anyone ever had.”  
  
Wesker drifted off into his pain and memories, and he cut himself off abruptly. He shook his head, sighed miserably, and sank down to sit on the floor, back against the wall. William sat down beside him.  
  
"I remember his hands all over me," he said tonelessly. "He wanted to know how far I was willing to go. But my answer didn't matter. I don't even remember what it was. I don't remember a lot of things about that night. I just remember him not listening to me anymore. All my intelligence and my opinions and how impressed he was, none of it mattered. I realized then that this was all that had mattered to him from the beginning, and my potential had been nothing more than a pleasant surprise. Now he had two ways to use me."   
  
Wesker lifted his face. He was shaking with fury.   
  
"And use me he did," he said bitterly. "He used me and then he sent me home … with a job offer, no less. I tried to avoid him. I tried to avoid everyone. The only reason I'm here now is that I decided if I didn't take the job, that Christmas Eve night would have been for nothing. Besides, the more I know about Spencer, the closer I come to destroying him. And I **will** destroy him."   
  
Birkin put a hand on his shoulder. He felt sympathy for Wesker, but he could not deny that he was also fascinated by his pain. He turned the story over in his mind, analyzing it as if it were a scientific problem.  
  
"Wesker, I'm sorry," he said. "I had no idea it was that horrible. It must hurt so much."   
  
"No," Wesker said. "It doesn't hurt. I'm numb … I can't feel anything anymore."   
  
Birkin reached out and pulled the sunglasses off of Wesker's face. Wesker looked surprised, then turned his face. His blue eyes were dry but Birkin could see the pain in them. Was that why Wesker always hid his eyes? Did he not dare chance letting anyone see his humanity in them?  
  
"We both know that isn't true.”  
  
Wesker shook his head.  
  
"Don't pity me, Birkin," he said angrily. "You wanted to know and I told you. Don't make this into something it's not. Why are you looking at me like that?"   
  
Birkin kissed him again. Wesker shoved him away.  
  
"Don't _do_ that!" he snapped.   
  
Birkin embraced him, his face burrowing into his neck. Wesker was horrified. His face slowly turned a deep shade of red.   
  
"Don't push me away, Wesker,” William demanded. “We need each other."   
  
"Not like this," Wesker stressed, smothered by the kid. "Birkin, stop it. Cut it out!"   
  
Wesker tore out of Birkin's embrace and scrambled to his feet.   
  
"Don't you understand?" Wesker asked, wearier than an eighteen-year-old should be. “Spencer is the only person that I have ever been intimate with. He's the only person I've ever truly learned from. Do you want me to do to you what he did to me? Do you want me to hurt you that way?”  
  
Birkin stood up, brushed his slacks off. His heart was pounding and his pulse was fast. He felt the same rush as when he was on the verge of a scientific breakthrough. He had chipped away at the ice and found Wesker's core. He nearly grasped the entirety of the previously indecipherable man. The physical attraction he could no longer deny added a thrill of electricity to his emotional experiment.  
  
"You wouldn't hurt me, Albert,” he said certainly. “You're not like—”  
  
Birkin stopped short. His eyes fell on the staircase behind Wesker. Wesker spun around and his breath caught.   
  
"Spencer."   
  
The President of Umbrella was slowly coming down the stairs. Wesker could tell from the look on his face that he'd been listening to everything from above. Wesker carefully set his face to display no emotion.  
  
"Merry Christmas," Spencer greeted them. "I hope I'm not interrupting."   
  
"What are you doing here?" Birkin was bold enough to sneer.   
  
"I thought I'd drop by. After all, Wesker and I both share a certain nostalgia concerning Christmas Eve." Spencer turned his cold gaze to Wesker. "Don't we?"   
  
Wesker turned red and looked away.   
  
"I thought we might share a glass of wine together, perhaps relive some of the memories."   
  
Birkin stepped forward to say something, but Wesker held in arm in front of him. He took his sunglasses from Birkin's hands and slid them on. With his furious eyes hidden from the world, he faced Spencer.   
  
"Fine. Let's go."   
  
"Wesker!" Birkin exclaimed.   
  
"Stay out of this, Birkin."   
  
"But Wesker—"   
  
"Stay out of it!" Wesker snapped. He walked over to Spencer. Then, he gave Birkin one last glance, his emotions hidden by the shades. "I'll be back later."   
  
Birkin could only gape after them. In a matter of moments, Wesker had been snatched away from him completely. For the first time, all his genius and determination was utterly useless. Just like that, Wesker was gone. Birkin fumed. He was worried for Wesker peripherally, but he was outraged that Spencer had cut his breakthrough short. Wesker would shut down again, after he had been so close to abandoning his facade. Not to mention William was left uncomfortably aroused. Frustrated in every way a man could be, the youth swore and kicked the wall.

* * *

  
Soon Wesker was standing by the window in Spencer's bedroom. He stared out at the falling snow with distant eyes. He could hear Spencer pouring him wine in the back of the room.   
  
"You're quiet tonight, Wesker,” Spencer said as he approached him. "That wouldn't have anything to do with Birkin, would it?"   
  
Wesker bowed his head.   
  
Spencer put down the glasses. He put his hands on Wesker's shoulders, squeezing him tightly. He lingered too closely, caressing the young man's stony shoulders. He could feel Wesker's spine stiffen.   
  
"You wouldn't be trying to _betray_ me, would you, Wesker?" Spencer murmured into Wesker's ear. He slid his hand down Wesker's arm. "Tell me, what is it you feel for Birkin?"   
  
"I have no idea." Wesker faced Spencer. "Why don't you tell me what to feel? You're the one that directs everything I do, aren't you? ”  
  
"And it's a good thing that I do."   
  
Spencer's hand squeezed his thigh. Wesker's face turned red and he moved away. Spencer opened the front of his shirt and slid his hand onto Wesker's chest. He began to kiss his neck. It was hard to remain as icy as usual, especially when he'd just told Birkin all the memories he'd had locked away until now. In his mind, flashes of that first Christmas Eve with Spencer rolled like film slides.  
  
"I didn't want to be like this," Wesker said quietly. He bowed his head. "I never wanted to be like this."   
  
"Don't worry so much, boy, it doesn't suit you." Spencer slid off Wesker's shirt. "In time, you'll find the truth about what you are. You will see that you are a monster, in society's definition of the word, and yet that you are perfect."   
  
Wesker gripped the curtains in his hands, leaning against the cold window. Spencer's warm breath brushed up and down his skin. Nothing had changed, Wesker realized. Nothing had changed since back then, nothing at all.  
  
"I don't want this," Wesker said. He turned to Spencer and fury overtook him "You _disgust_ me!"   
  
"Do I now?" Spencer hit his face. "I'm beginning to wonder whether you enjoy this treatment. Why else would you aggravate me deliberately?"   
  
Wesker tore away from Spencer. He was flushed and his hair had fallen. He leaned over the table with the drinks, his chest and shoulders heaving. Somehow, his sunglasses were still on his face, albeit being crooked.   
  
"Because," he said softly, "I can't be helpless anymore." He banged his fists on the table, making the glasses shudder. "I can't stand being used."   
  
"That isn't it." Spencer approached Wesker. "I know exactly what's wrong with you. You have feelings for little Birkin, don't you?"   
  
Wesker was quiet. Spencer's fingers traced the contours of his back. Then, his hands slid down onto Wesker's belt buckle.   
  
"I told you, I don't feel anything anymore,.”  
  
"You are lying to me, child. Tell me the truth, Albert."   
  
Wesker said nothing. Spencer slid his pants down, and Wesker went cold. He turned to face the man.  
  
"No. You tell me something," he demanded. "Tell me something now."   
  
Spencer traced the contours of Wesker's face with his fingers. He seemed amused by Wesker's anger.   
  
"What do you want to know?"   
  
"Only one thing." Wesker lifted his face. "Would you have hired me if I hadn't let you have me?"   
  
Spencer stared at him, expressionless. The humor did not leave his expression. In fact, it seemed to kindle. Wesker hated that look, it made him think Spencer was laughing at a private joke at his expense.  
  
"Tell me! Spencer!" Wesker demanded. "Would you have hired me regardless of whether I fucked you or not?"   
  
"Such language." Spencer looked him up and down. Finally, he replied, "No. I wouldn't have."   
  
Wesker was relieved. He nodded a little to himself. Spencer said nothing, only watched him. It was a lie, of course, but Spencer thought it was what Wesker needed to hear. If only Albert knew the truth. It was all Spencer could do to keep from laughing.  
  
"I passed your stupid test." Wesker pulled his pants back on, fastening them furiously. "Now here's a test for you. You can let me walk out. You can fire me, not fire me. You can kill me, if you want. I don't care. But I'm not letting you put your filthy hands on me again."   
  
Spencer's eyes narrowed. Wesker dressed completely and walked out. Spencer smiled once he was alone. The final test had been passed. Wesker was finally strong enough to break free of him, at least enough to grow into manhood. He was ready, Spencer thought. The tests were over. Now the game began in earnest.


	6. Chapter 6

In his room, Birkin was sitting alone. He stared blankly into his microscope, seeing nothing. For once, he could not concentrate on his work. His mind was too preoccupied with Wesker.   
  
"He's so cold. _So_ cold," Birkin said quietly to himself. "But he isn't perfect. He isn't some inhuman being. He's a man. He's only a man.”  
  
Birkin sighed and sat back in his chair. He stared at the ceiling.   
  
"I didn't come here for this," he thought out loud. "I came here for an environment devoid of useless human interaction. I wanted to work in peace, without the distraction of mundane life. The only intimacy I planned,” he chuckled dryly, “was one with the virus. I was supposed to be linked to it, an intellectual symbiosis: I would uncover its secrets, and it would grow for me, evolve for me. I never imagined a third wheel, let alone one that I would … befriend. One that I would care for."   
  
Birkin smiled a little. He pushed away from the desk, rubbing his eyes.   
  
"I supposed I expected too much of myself," he said. "After all, genius or not, I am only human. Perhaps they're right. Perhaps I am 'just a kid'. I certainly feel like one right now, sitting here, worrying about a man I'm falling in love with. Is it love? Do I love him? Or the puzzle of him? Maybe it doesn't even matter."   
  
The door burst open and William jumped. Wesker walked in, shutting the door with both hands. He leaned on it for a second, and then strode over to Birkin. Before William could say anything, Wesker leaned down and kissed him deeply.   
  
"Wesker!" William exclaimed. "What are you doing?"   
  
"Birkin, do you love me?"  
  
" _What_?”  
  
"Just tell me! Do you love me?"   
  
William stared at his older colleague. His eyes softened and he smiled. He supposed it didn't matter what he loved, the man or the puzzle; they were the same.  
  
"Yes," he replied. "I think that I do."   
  
"Good."   
  
Wesker kissed him again. Birkin was overwhelmed by it but he hung onto him, wanting more. Wesker walked, forcing him back, and they fell onto the bed.  
  
"Good, because it's over." Wesker removed his sunglasses as he leaned over Birkin, meeting his eyes. "It's over. I gave Spencer a choice, and he chose. And I'm still here.”   
  
"But aren't you afraid of what he might do?"   
  
"Afraid?" Wesker barked a laugh. “No, Spencer pushed me far past the point of fear. Once the numbness wore off, once I had a reason to look past what I thought I needed to do … Once _you_ gave me a reason to break free, I couldn't keep living in his damned cage. I saw myself through your eyes, and I hated what I've become. Thank you, William.”  
  
"Oh, I-I … " William stammered, not knowing what to say.   
  
Wesker smiled at him, stroking his face. He cut William's awkward attempt to respond short with a kiss. William put his arms around his neck, and kissed him back passionately. It was the first and last time that Wesker ever expressed gratitude to another human being.

* * *

  
During the following weeks, Wesker kept an eye out for Spencer. Despite his display of confidence, he did not fully believe the man would let him go so easily. Yet Spencer never surfaced. In some ways, the lack of a threat was more menacing than any action Spencer could have taken.  
  
From then on, a revolution was taking place within the Spencer Mansion. Science, love, good and evil, all was coming together just as the virus cells did in their subjects. Wesker sensed it, but could not fully decipher the phenomenon. Something had shifted, changed, and they were progressing—but towards what? It was getting more and more difficult to tell where these roads were all leading.  
  
As he strode through the forest one day, Wesker was pondering such questions. He did not like being uncertain of the future, of not knowing how to plan ahead. He stared up at the sky as a helicopter passed overhead. He remembered flying to the mansion in the same chopper, and turning to Birkin, whose face was buried in his notes. He thought of the first day he'd set his eyes on that mansion. He thought of that smell, which he'd gotten used to by now.   
  
_I had been falling in love with Birkin for some time, since the training center, but I knew that I couldn't let it distract me. Too many things were happening, too many questions were being raised. Even Spencer's attitude towards me began to change then._

_Spencer. He's done nothing to punish me for rejecting him. It's as if he didn't even care that I'd fallen in love with William behind his back. It's almost as if he planned for me to get close to Birkin. But why? He hired us as researchers; why would our personal lives matter to him? It's true that the occurrences in a person's personal life can often affect how they work, but to exact such control over people is sickening. Does Spencer mean to use us as puppets? Does he think that he is some kind of god?  
  
_   
  


  
  


  
  


**Memo II**

  
  


_The questions that I asked myself that day in the Arklay woods continued to haunt me, even when Birkin found me and pushed them out of my mind. Those same questions would continue to plague me for the 20 years during which I worked for Umbrella. I spent most of my life wondering how far Spencer was planning to go with that project.  
  
I could not share those questions with anyone, not even Birkin. I doubt Birkin would have even cared, so long as he got to work on his precious virus. I also didn't want to worry him. That day, I realized it was up to me to protect him, and to figure out Spencer's game, and my role in it, before it turned deadly. After all, how could I protect William if I could not protect myself?   
  
Spencer and I were destined to play this cat and mouse game for a long time. That day when I strode through the forest, I had no idea that that game would eventually cost me everything. I would lose Birkin, myself, and even my humanity. I was so young then. I wonder now, if I had known, would I have played the game at all?   
  
Was it worth it? I loved Birkin for a long time, and he is dead now. It's been twenty years, and I still have no answers. I'm not even human anymore. Was it worth it?   
  
Sometimes, I don't think it was. Sometimes, I feel that I was a fool for even thinking I could defeat Spencer. Those are my darkest hours, when I cannot shake the feeling that even I won't survive.  
  
On the other hand, I never would have known Birkin had I not been involved with Umbrella. I would have gone on alone. I would have gone on unaware of my own power, as well, my own potential. We both grew so much during those years, evolved just as the virus did. How many people died so that we could go on living, learning, loving? Yet I don't think about those people at all. Even Birkin, even losing him, I still cannot bring myself to regret playing Spencer's game. I gained much from it, and I am so close now, so close to destroying that man …   
  
Twenty years. Birkin is dead, leaving only his daughter. I _am _close, but I still don't know exactly what Spencer is thinking. I've sacrificed even my humanity … and I still don't know._ _  
  
But I will find out. I must retain hope. Birkin would laugh at me if I simply quit. He'd say that it doesn't suit my character. Besides, like Spencer said even back then, I have never been anything less than a monster—and yet still perfect. I'm strong. I won't let Spencer win. I have to know. My mind and Birkin's mind, which put us through so much pain and joy, our brilliant minds … I can't die without knowing what they were for. I need to know …_

 _  
What exactly was Spencer using our brilliant minds for?_   
  
**\- End -**


End file.
